The Legacy

by Gemma Malley

  And then she heard it. The newsfeed. Pip, the hope of the Underground, Peter’s protector, had given himself up to the Authorities. As she listened, Margaret went white and felt her heart crashing in her chest. Because he had been her hope too, and now she had none. Now all that lay before her was the emptiness of oblivion.

  Julia held up her identicard and waited for the green light. It took a few seconds – longer than usual – but eventually the small printout appeared, the barriers opened, and she was ready to shop. She enjoyed her trips to the Maxi-Market, enjoyed the rare feeling of plenty. For although her purchases were restricted by her identicard reading, she could still look, touch and smell the wonderful display of foods on offer. Even if they weren’t real. Even if her journey here had been stressful, difficult and unnecessarily so in her opinion.

  The checkpoints were everywhere now and police patrolled the street. A simple journey involved a million questions, body searches, horrible intrusion into one’s personal life. Where are you going? Why are you going there? When will you be back? But she didn’t mind. The world was different now and they needed such checks for their own protection. Not just from the Underground terrorists but from the crowds of deranged, angry people. Fear made people forget themselves, Julia found herself thinking. Fear was a terribly destructive force.

  She looked up at the building and felt her spirits lift a little. She remembered being young and going to the supermarket. People had been free to choose to shop where they liked in those days and no one thought anything of buying fruits from halfway across the world – and while the Maxi-Market wasn’t the same, not really, it still gave her the thrill she got back then – of potential, of wonder, of desires being met.

  Unfortunately her printout didn’t allow for many of her desires, particularly the overwhelming desire she felt for chocolate. But it did give the green light for pasta and even pesto which, if it wasn’t good for her hips, was certainly good for her general mood. Humming to herself, she walked towards the vegetable section – it was all root vegetables at this time of year, large and heavy and begging to be stewed with beef or sausages. But beef was off the menu. Beef hadn’t been on the menu for a long time – not for Julia, not for anyone. She felt sorry for the cows really, but they required too much space to graze, caused too much havoc to the environment; they were not efficient, and efficiency was what it was all about, wasn’t it? Still, she would buy a small portion of lamb instead, which was still available, if expensive. She pressed her identicard to the reader next to the imitation vegetables and waited.

  Sweet potato, five hundred grammes, added to trolley, the voice said. Marrow, three hundred grammes, added to trolley. Two vegetable credits left. Thank you.

  She walked on to the bread section, her favourite. The food on display might not be real but the smells were, and she inhaled deeply as the scent of freshly baked loaves wafted towards her.

  Granary loaf, five hundred grammes, added to trolley. Try the latest butter substitute on aisle fifteen. Thank you.

  ‘You’re only buying one?’

  The woman’s voice startled Julia and she turned round to see a neighbour she’d occasionally come across at drinks parties. Belinda. No, Brenda – that was it. Julia frowned. ‘I only need one,’ she said, thinking to herself what an odd question it was to ask someone. ‘Why?’

  Brenda looked at her contemptuously. ‘You’re not hiding any more Surpluses in your house? Any terrorists trying to kill us all?’

  Julia’s heart seemed to miss a beat and she fought to control herself. ‘I really don’t know what you mean,’ she said, moving away. ‘Now if you don’t mind . . .’

  Brenda moved closer. ‘I do mind. It’s people like you who have created this mess. People are dying and all because of liberals like you. Everyone knows it was you who helped those Surpluses, Legals now. And what did they do to thank us? They poisoned our Longevity. Surpluses aren’t people, Julia. They’re not human. They’re evil. They should be put down at birth like in other countries.’

  Julia could feel her skin getting hot and prickly. It seemed so long ago, that fateful day when Surplus Anna had turned up in her garden room with the boy, hiding from the Catchers. She hadn’t intended to help them escape but they’d been so fragile, so helpless, and they were only children. Of course she understood now that it was she who’d been vulnerable, she who’d been weak, exploited by their manipulative minds. Her therapist had explained it all to her. Her husband had too. He’d blamed himself for being absent so much of the time, had promised that they would spend more time together.

  But no one knew. They’d been promised secrecy. Hadn’t they?

  She swallowed uncomfortably. ‘I haven’t created anything, Brenda. You must have seen the news. It was Pip, the Underground’s leader, who infiltrated Pincent Pharma, not the Surpluses. Now, please excuse me. I have to get on.’

  ‘It’s liberals like you who have allowed this murder, you know. Surpluses shouldn’t be kept alive. Those halls are breeding grounds for terrorists. They should all be shut down in my opinion. Full of evil.’

  An image of Anna flashed into Julia’s mind – sweet little Anna listening to Julia’s stories with an expression of wonderment on her face, the same face months later telling Julia about the cruelty at Grange Hall, fear etched into frown lines on her forehead, the determination that they wouldn’t go back, couldn’t. But that was before the Underground had wreaked such devastation. Could such a person as Anna really be a terrorist?

  ‘They are children,’ Julia said tightly. ‘The Underground terrorists are to blame, not Surpluses. But really, I do have to get on.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Brenda moved away, letting Julia pass. But moments later she was beside her again. ‘I’d stock up if I were you though,’ she said icily.

  Julia didn’t say anything; she looked ahead stonily.

  ‘Word is that it wasn’t Longevity they sabotaged,’ Brenda continued regardless. ‘It was the air we breathe. They’re poisoning us with disease. If it was just one batch, why are people still Disappearing? They’re not all terrorists. My aunt’s gone. She hated the Underground. Hated them.’

  ‘Maybe that was a front,’ Julia said hesitantly, her stomach clenching with anger. ‘Maybe she only pretended to hate them.’

  Brenda’s eyes widened with outrage. ‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘My aunt wasn’t a terrorist. She wasn’t! Not like you. We all know about you, Julia.’ She looked so angry, so desperate. Julia quickly turned and started to walk. She wouldn’t listen to another word. The air wasn’t poisoned. It couldn’t be, could it? No. The Authorities would have told everyone to stay inside if it was. No, Brenda’s aunt was obviously involved in the Underground after all.

  Although, Julia thought with a thud, she herself had been involved in the Underground. She’d hidden Surplus Anna. Would the Authorities be coming for her too?

  Rushing now, Julia completed her shopping and left the Maxi-Market still feeling shaky. She was convinced everyone was looking at her. Who else knew about the Surpluses? Who had Brenda told? Did she actually even know anything or had she just been guessing? But as the shop steward filled her car with the produce she’d bought, Julia began to relax. Brenda was just agitated. She would apologise soon enough. Pip had been captured, no one else would disappear, and soon everything would return to normal. Julia took a deep breath in, then exhaled, feeling her shoulders relax slightly, her forehead smooth.

  Then, thanking the steward, she started her car and made her way home.

  .

  Chapter Fourteen

  Derek Samuels gripped the briefcase that rested on his knee – the briefcase he took everywhere with him. It contained the tools of his trade – the implements he used to encourage people to talk to him, to tell him their secrets before he ended their lives. He could tell as soon as he met someone what they would respond to, how to take them to the edge of desperation before offering a glimpse of hope, of salvation, if they were to do his will, if the
y were to tell him what he wanted to know.

  ‘You must give him to me,’ he said quietly, looking straight ahead as the Pincent Pharma car sped towards the Newsfeed offices. ‘I can get what you need from him.’

  The news had been a shock – Pip handing himself in, confessing to a crime that Richard and Derek both knew he had not committed. But they knew why he had done it, and now Derek had to amend his plans accordingly.

  Richard nodded, then turned back to Hillary. ‘He’s right,’ he said. ‘Derek can break this man. Let him take him. Let him see what he can learn.’

  Hillary shook her head. ‘He surrendered to the Authorities,’ she said firmly. ‘There is due process to be followed, Richard. Everyone will want to know what is happening to him. He is the most wanted man in the whole world, the most dangerous terrorist. We can’t just let Derek take him to a darkened room somewhere. We must be seen to punish him. To hang him if necessary.’

  ‘Hang him and he will become a martyr,’ Derek seethed, not allowing his voice to rise. ‘That is what he wants. He has surrendered to save the Underground, to stem the attacks, calm the anarchy that his actions created. Hang him and people will feel safe again, they will become complacent. Hang him and another will take his place. Give him to me and I will root out every supporter, every sympathiser. Give him to me and the Underground will no longer exist.’

  ‘Hillary, you know it makes sense,’ Richard said evenly. ‘I understand that this is an Authorities matter, but this man Pip will have information that Pincent Pharma will find very useful. How they breached our security, what else they had planned –’

  ‘What matters is that he won’t breach your security again,’ Hillary said tersely. ‘The priority is to restore public confidence.’

  ‘But not to restore it too much,’ Derek interjected silkily.

  Hillary pursed her lips. ‘A state of national emergency was declared last week,’ she said tightly. ‘Half the world is threatening to declare war on us unless we put to death the man who murdered their people.’

  ‘Then he dies,’ Richard said with a shrug. ‘But later. He should suffer first. Derek can ensure that. Derek knows all about making people suffer and about getting information from them. Let him have Pip first. We need him.’

  ‘You need to concentrate on containing the contamination,’ Hillary said, her voice low and angry. ‘You said that it was one batch. And yet there are more and more bodies. I have just been on the phone to my counterparts in Sweden, Korea and the US, where the death tolls are rising. You assured me everything was under control. And it isn’t, Richard. It isn’t at all.’

  Derek looked at Richard meaningfully, then he leant forward and lowered his voice so that Hillary had to strain to hear it. ‘If I may,’ he said. ‘The only way to ensure that the death toll does not rise is to ensure that all Pip’s allies are caught before they can attempt more contamination.’

  Richard smiled gratefully at him. ‘Hillary,’ he said, ‘Derek’s right. The contaminated batch was bigger than we’d hoped, but everything is under control.’

  ‘Really?’ Hillary asked, leaning towards him as she lowered her voice. ‘There are rumours of large pits being dug within the walls of Pincent Pharma, Richard. Smoke has been spiralling above your land for weeks. What have you been burning? And where are those affected being treated? You won’t let me see them. You won’t let anyone see them.’

  ‘Of course I won’t,’ Richard replied, his eyes narrowing. ‘No one can see the victims of contamination because they are in sterile units. The contamination has opened their systems to bacteria, to infection which must be contained. Everything we use in those units has been burnt or buried to protect the healthy. And in the meantime, with your help, we have been rounding up all the sick, all the liberals, all the Opt Outs, all those hidden children that people keep like little pets. You know that calls to the Surplus hotline have gone through the roof? People are falling over themselves to point the finger, to voice their suspicions, to snitch on their neighbours. We are winning. But we can’t rest on our laurels. We need Pip to tell us everything he knows. Only then will the world be safe again.’

  ‘So there will be no more Missing?’ Hillary asked tersely.

  Richard shot a conspiratorial look at Derek, who moved his head just enough to encourage his master. There had been another message that morning. The ring was on its way. Things were in motion.

  Richard nodded. ‘Yes, Hillary. They will stop.’

  Hillary blinked slowly; her hands were gripping her bag so tightly that her knuckles were white.

  ‘One week,’ she said. ‘One week is all you have.’

  ‘That’s all I need,’ Derek said, sitting back. ‘That’s enough.’

  An hour later, Jude looked for the last time around the room he’d spent the past two months in. It always amazed him how easy it was to pack up what represented the Underground headquarters, how quickly the spaces that had contained it returned to their former existence – dank, squalid buildings good only for being knocked down. Packed up, the Underground could be condensed into three piles and his computer. He knew that the operation’s sophistication wasn’t focused in one place, that its armies were not stationed in the building nor its information held in physical form alone. But still, standing there, he couldn’t help feeling that far from the wide-reaching terrorist organisation Hillary Wright insisted on talking about, the Underground was really a fragile thing, a butterfly hoping that by flapping its wings huge changes would come about.

  Two supporters had been called in to help him pack and the work had been done in silence. Whether because of Pip’s surrender, the crazed attacks on Underground sympathisers or the whimpers and cries from the children, Jude didn’t know, but no one said a word as they methodically shifted the piles of papers and equipment into rucksacks for easy transport.

  Sam appeared again. His shift – the guards worked one week on, three weeks off – had come to an end, but his replacement had not turned up yet. Jude had a feeling the replacement wouldn’t be turning up ever; he suspected Sam thought the same, but neither of them admitted it. They continued to talk as though things hadn’t changed irrevocably, as though any minute now another guard might appear.

  ‘You going to take over running things? Till Pip escapes?’ Sam asked.

  Jude didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘He’ll be out before you know it,’ he said. Then, knowing that it was an empty promise, ‘He’ll escape. He’s got a plan.’

  ‘Course he will. I know that,’ Sam said.

  Jude nodded gratefully. Until a few hours ago, Sam had been an anonymous guard stationed at the top of the stairs. Jude had barely registered his face, and Sam hadn’t spoken except to check the credentials of visitors and to tell them where to go. But now – well, now things were different. Since they’d watched the newsfeed together, it felt like the two of them were carrying everything on their shoulders. They would be too, quite literally, Jude thought wryly, looking at the rucksacks.

  Sam looked at him awkwardly. ‘There was another one twenty minutes ago,’ he said.

  ‘Another . . . ?’ Jude asked, but he didn’t have to finish the sentence; he knew what Sam meant. He meant another supporter had called to say they no longer wanted anything to do with the Underground. If Pip had hoped that handing himself in would draw a line in the sand, stop the attacks, stop supporters from deserting them, he’d been wrong. If anything, his admission of guilt had just made things worse.

  ‘Said she didn’t want us contacting her again. Said she was resigning her support.’

  ‘Right. Thanks,’ Jude said tightly. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ve still got supporters. We’ll be fine.’

  ‘Right.’ Sam breathed out heavily. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘people don’t want to get ill and die, do they?’

  Jude stopped packing the box next to him and looked up.

  ‘The Underground didn’t sabotage the drugs,’ he said quietly. ‘You know that, right?’ />
  ‘I know.’ Sam nodded. ‘But it does – death, I mean – it does focus the mind, doesn’t it? Like, people want new life, they do. But then when the reality hits, they realise that if there’s new life, then there’s got to be death. Which is OK in theory, but when it’s in practice, when you hear about people dying . . .’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jude said, closing his eyes and seeing the blistered bodies in the Pincent Pharma lorry, the woman clawing at him in pain as she died. He met Sam’s eyes and saw real fear in them. But before he could say something, reach out, explain that he understood, there was a loud bang on the door. He looked at Sam in alarm as the door guard jumped up.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he asked. ‘What’s the weather like out there?’

  He looked back at Jude, his eyes wide with fear. Then a voice called out, ‘It’s windy in Scotland, but here it’s quite mild.’

  Jude stiffened as he recognised the voice. ‘Peter?’ he called out as Sam opened the door tentatively. ‘Peter! What the hell are you doing here?’

  Peter scanned the room as Sam hurriedly shut the door behind him. His face was blue and black, his clothes covered in dirt. ‘You’re moving?’

  Jude nodded. ‘Yeah. We’re – it’s safer.’

  Peter appeared to digest this, to take in the sound of crying, the emptiness, the bags under Jude’s eyes. ‘You were waiting for me?’ he frowned.

  Jude shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I didn’t know you were coming. What are you doing here? Where’s Anna? And the children?’

  But Peter didn’t answer and Jude watched wide-eyed as he fell to the floor. It was only when he looked down that Jude saw the footprints on his clothes, realised that he had been literally trampled, the black marks on his face the bruises and dirt from having his face pressed into the ground. Where? How? He wanted to know, but he couldn’t ask. Instead he turned to Sam, who immediately leant down and picked Peter up. ‘I can carry him,’ he said in answer to Jude’s silent question. ‘Come on. We have to go.’